How to tell if you're from Catachan
by thestargod
Summary: Greetings fellow citizens of the Imperium and heretical xenos welcome to my first foray into 40k fan fiction!  I would love to take this moment to pay tribute to one of the craziest and most awesome armies in the game: the Catachan Jungle fighters!


**You might be a Catachan soldier if...**

Your regiment doesn't have ration trucks on account of the "only eat what you can kill" rule

What others call "Nurgle's Rot" you call "Athlete's foot"

Your abs count as flak armor

Given the choice between a knife and a Tau rail rifle you pick the knife; every...single...time

Commisars give YOU fearful looks

Your unit approaches a boiling hot lake of water that can strip the flesh from the bones of any human and your first thought is "hot tub"

You find Ogryn women attractive (are there Ogryn women?)

You look at a Tyranid and you feel homesick

"Giant soulsucking monstrous bugs will kill you with their venomous sting if you so much as look at them funny and drain your blood in minutes" are simply refered to as "bedbugs".

You think Leman Russ tanks are for pussies too afraid to get their hands dirty.

A trip into the Eye of Terror isn't a mission, it's a vacation.

You think an Ork choppa is a pitiful excuse for a close combat weapon (that's no knife...)

Your idea of "armored support" is an open topped walker with tissue thin armor.

Your squad is surrounded on all sides and is outnumbered 10 to 1 and you can't help but think these are piss poor odds...for your opponent.

Hard dirt is more comfortable then a bed

You refer to "night time" as "killing time"

The only thing that can get you drunk enough to forget is Ork mushroom beer.

You use melta bombs to start cooking fires

You're walking down a road and all you can see are ambush points and places to perfectly position a spring mine.

You think Ork blood makes good camoflague paint.

Lasguns are not weapons, just a quick and easy way to draw a new tattoo.

Facing a Daemon Prince is nothing special, you've seen Catachan Devils that are five times that size

You're suprised when jungle plants DON'T try to eat you.

Your suprise conitues when you learn that some plants are actually NOT poisonous and can in fact be quite edible and delicious.

A flamer and a Termagant is considered to be the perfect barbacue recipie.

You laugh in the face of danger, then grab danger by the scruff of its neck and slit its throat.

Giant knives are treasured family heirlooms.

Lictors are always looking over their shoulder because they just know your squad is out there somewhere.

You start collecting retiree benfits by the time you're forty.

You know how to judge a knife's balance, edge, and throwing accuracy by the age of twelve.

Eldar rangers come to you when they want to learn about infiltration and jungle warfare.

A "victory parade" consists of copious amounts of alcohol and drunken brawls with your superiors.

You don't believe in "marching" so much as "stalking your prey".

A Greater Daemon of Nurgle can't look at your food without gagging

You think the Orks just aren't green enough.

You played five finger fillet in elementary school.

Peaceful nights give you nightmares.

Bathing in Tyrinid blood is considered hygenic.

Your sargent has attended more diciplinary hearings then your entire squad combined.

You believe that Space Wolves can't handle their liquor.

The only way anyone can earn your respect is by killing something that is five times bigger then them and has at least three sets of razor sharp teeth.

You can bench press a Terminator

Your life span is not measured by wrinkles but by scars.

"Oops" is a pefectly reasonable explination for a Commissar "accidently" steping on a mine that you just planted.

You can pick out an Ork standing perfectly still, in the middle of the jungle, 200 yards away.

Ogryns are among your closest and greatest friends.

You don't know the meaning of the words "long range fire support".

Surviving another year is the single greatest and only truly meaningful birthday present you will ever receive.

And finally...

Your mother died giving birth to you while suffering from the Catachan Plague, your father lost his arms and right leg to a Khorne Berserker, your Grandpa was impailed by a Hive Tyrant and lived to tell about it (right up to the grand old age of fifty), your uncle was eaten by a Venus Man Trap, and your wife was kidnapped by the Dark Eldar. You have no left hand (Howling Banshee), your brain is encased in plas steel (Tau Ion Cannon), and you're speaking out of a hole in your throat (friendly lasgun fire). Yet despite all this, your family is STILL looked down upon as incredible pussies.


End file.
